by Susan Stedman
In just over a year, I will be 60 years old. Wow, technically I knew this, but seeing it in black and white really makes it seem true. I don’t really believe it. I don’t know how I could be that old. I’m probably adding something wrong somewhere. The reason I know it can’t be true is how clear my memory is of the one activity I love to do most at Christmas Time. I’ve been doing this all my life, as long as I can remember. It was much easier when I was smaller. I try never to judge people, but I remember that we used to visit a lot of relatives during the month of December. No one knew about my litmus test back then, but I did it to everyone until they deemed me too old to be crawling on their floor. So, probably around the age of fifteen, I had to be more discreet. That doesn’t mean I stopped. I just stopped doing it when people were around. So, what is this terrible secret I hide that comes out every December? I crawl under Christmas trees, lie on my back, and look up through the branches. Ornaments don’t fascinate me. It’s the lights that draw me to my Christmas addiction. And tinsel. Only because tinsel reflects the lights so that it seems like they are doubled or tripled in number. The best time to do it is when all the other lights are off in the house and only the twinkling, colored dots above me are visible. I don’t know how this began, nor why it is such a thrill for me, but twinkling lights have the power to hypnotize me. Not only on Christmas trees, but that is just where they grow thickest. I can lay there all night watching them and I get so much peace from doing it that I resent having to leave them. Maybe it’s because many people are on their best behavior at Christmas. Moms and Dads don’t argue so much. Brothers and sisters don’t fight over things because they get their own toys. Grand- parents aren’t sad because families come to see them and spend time at their houses. Christmas songs are on the stereo. Christmas shows are on tv. Best of all, it is the time that we celebrate the birth of Jesus. Love abounds when we put Him first. Love and peace seem to come together as a holiday package and it doesn’t cost a thing to give that gift to someone. A friend, a neighbor, a stranger on the street. Everyone loves that Christmas Spirit. I never thought much about it until this year but I realized that there is more to this than just my addiction to sparkly lights. I looked it up in the Bible and wasn’t surprised that I didn’t find anything about Christmas lights, but I did find the following verse from James 1:7. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there can be no variation, neither shadow that is cast by turning.” So this Christmas time, I recommend you lay down on your floor and back yourself up under your tree. While you look up at the light show, remember the Father of lights and His Christmas gift to the world, His son, Jesus.
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by Donna Butler
Mistletoe for kissing loved ones, Shimmering garland on a tree, Dancing colored lights that bring smiles As they brightly create a scene. Festive wreaths adorning doors Huge blow-ups that stand tall, Ornaments of every shape and size You couldn’t even imagine them all. Elaborate trees in decorated houses Carols that stir your soul to joy But, don’t forget the REASON we celebrate, Remember it began with a royal baby boy. From the very throne of Heaven A perfect plan from God’s own heart, And through many years, tears, and colorful peers, The line of David was set apart. Then, a willing “yes” from a humble virgin A faith-filled step of an obedient man, A choice to embark on the word of angels to bring us the holy Lamb. So, as we celebrate this wonderful season And we purchase such thoughtful gifts, Remember that the real Present Became the sacrificial ram that continues to give. By Susan Stedman
Secretly, Laura had never wanted to leave Mema’s house. She got all the love and security in her life from those two. She lifted her head when she felt the car stop, surprised that they were parked in Mema’s driveway already. They were the first to arrive. There was Mema, opening the side door, saying, “Git in this house before you freeze!” Laura smiled, a bittersweet tear on her cheek. Granddaddy had been gone for twelve years now, with the last five years of his life spent with his tall frame hunched and shrunken in a wheelchair. She remembered how she had ridden on his shoulders while watching the Christmas parade in person, a whole foot higher than everyone around them. As his disease progressed, she had watched his beautiful ice-blue eyes fade and go cloudy; she had held his hand and sang to him the day he died in hospice. Holidays had never been the same for her. Mema had even closed the fireplace and used it only for decoration now. An obscure Bible verse flashed into her mind. She had never understood exactly what it meant, but today, it was amply clear. “Do not say ‘Why were the old days better than this?’ For it is not wise to ask such questions.” (Ecclesiastes 7:10). Entering the house, she paused to kiss Mema’s cheek. Despite the extra heat in the house, her skin felt very cold today. Her cheek seemed almost translucent, thin as rice paper, with many more wrinkles than the last time she’d seen her. In less than a month, Mema would be 93 years old. Laura’s mind reeled briefly. How had that happened? Mema still smiled. She still greeted each descendent with a hug as they came in the door. Within the half-hour, her mother, sister, two nephews, and niece had arrived. Mema tottered around her immaculately clean kitchen while Laura and her sister laid out the spread. Mema had to ask Joe to open jars for her and Laura saw how gnarled her once-artistically beautiful hands had twisted with arthritis. Yet despite all this, she had spent days putting up elaborate decorations for the children. Throughout the day, Laura only found herself annoyed when someone got exasperated with Mema’s behaviors. Laura didn’t get upset when Mema repeated the same stories she’d heard dozens of times. She didn’t mind talking much louder so Mema could hear without misperceptions. She didn’t mind cleaning the kitchen and putting away all the holiday trimmings. Laura spent the whole day watching Mema. She was devastated when, several times, she saw Mema stop and look around in confusion as if she had forgotten something important. What had happened in such a short time? Another scripture popped into Laura’s mind. God was attentive to her today, He knew what she was feeling. “Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” (John 21:18) Laura got out of her comfy chair, crossed the crowded room, and sat down on the floor at Mema’s feet, laying her head on her grandmother’s lap. It surprised Mema but delighted her, too. Once again, God sent her another word, two from Job. “Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?” Much later, as everyone packed their vehicles and were getting ready to leave, Laura hugged Mema very tight and kept hugging for so long that even Mema was surprised. “What was that for?” she asked. “I just realized I was missing you a lot,” Laura confessed. She handed Mema her Bible and opened to Isaiah 46:4. In halting words, Mema squinted and read out loud. “Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” Mema understood. She hugged Laura once more and kissed her cheek. Laura was unusually quiet all the way home, not afraid now to leave Mema alone because she was in much better hands than her own. She would miss her like crazy when her time came, but she knew that her grandmother would just be relocating and someday, Laura would see her again. By Susan Stedman
Wasn’t Thanksgiving supposed to be a happy time? Peace on earth, goodwill towards men, and all that stuff? That was the farthest thing from Laura’s mind when the alarm went off at 7am. On a holiday, nonetheless! Wasn’t that illegal somewhere? “It should be,” she grumbled, morning breath making her wrinkle up her nose. You worked five days a week and you were supposed to at least get to sleep late on a holiday! She could even hear her whine inside her own head. Taking every precaution not to make a sound, she made it down to the kitchen without waking the kids. She had to make a squash casserole, two dozen deviled eggs, and a sweet potato souffle, all before she could get a shower and get dressed. During an unexpected moment of quiet, once they were in the loaded car, Laura leaned her head against the cool side window and watched the winter world zoom past. They drove along the same roads that her mom and dad had driven to get to Mema’s when she was a little girl. In fact, except for her husband’s dozen years in the army when they lived on other continents, she had spent every single Christmas at her Mema and Granddaddy’s house. Only now that she was getting older did she long for having a quiet Christmas day without all the rushing to cook, dress, drive, and then sit in an uneasy truce with close and distant family members. But when she was little! Oh, that was a different story! Mema was still young enough to insist on doing everything herself. With her mother being an only child, the only kids there were Laura and her sister. They got all the attention from their doting grandparents. She smiled and chuckled slightly, her breath fogging the window momentarily. Laura closed her eyes and let her mind slide gently backward. They would arrive in whatever rickety car of the month her Daddy had traded for. More than once, she and her sister had huddled, freezing under a blanket for the hour-long car trip because there was no heat but they were going to see Mema, so they were happy no matter how cold they were. As soon as the car stopped, they leaped out and ran to the side door under the carport that Granddaddy had built with his own hands. He would be standing there straight and tall, telling them to “Git on in this house before you freeze to death!” He would pick them both up together, one sitting on each strong arm, lifted up to his full six-foot, one-inch-tall height. After a quick messy kiss on the cheek, he put them down and they both ran to see Mema. There was always a roaring fire in the big stone fireplace – a novelty because they only had three small gas space heaters in their house. The air was so warm that it felt thick but comforting. Wonderful aromas wafted through – ham, sweet potatoes roasting, something sinfully cinnamon for dessert. Then Mema would come out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. She was a sophisticated woman of the 70s with high frosted hair, thick makeup, ruby red lips, huge button clip-on earrings, polyester pantsuit, and heels that clicked on the terracotta tiles. The apron was in stark contrast, but it was their great-grandmother’s old threadbare apron that she held on to like a prize. She always smelled of spearmint gum when she leaned down to kiss them. “You kids git over here and hug my neck! Clifford, get the camera!” They didn’t mind the delay. Mema knelt down and squeezed them both till they felt they would pop. Moments later they ran to see her huge, richly-decorated silver tree, tinsel flashing with each revolution of the lighted color wheel. She always put it up the day before Thanksgiving for the kids. Granddaddy would snap pictures on the old Polaroid and they took turns watching them slowly develop before their eyes. Then he would leave them to play, eventually calling that the Christmas parade was on TV. Not that they could hear the TV because he had a Johnny Mathis Christmas album on the huge console stereo hi-fi. Then came the meal! Enough food to feed the six of them three, four, five times over. Their huge dining table didn’t have a single empty spot. Once they’d eaten their fill, they would play while the adults talked. They always left all the food on the table so they could go back and have dinner before the long drive back home. |
About Rays of Light:Whereas most blogs are from one writer, these posts are from a variety of authors and styles. These scribes all attend our Kingdom Writers group. We pray our passion to share God's love through writing will encourage you today!
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April 2024
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